The Warded Man (Demon Cycle, #1)(134)

“If that’s what it takes,” Jizell said.

Leesha glared at her, but Jizell met the gaze and didn’t flinch. “You’ve guarded that flower so long that no man will ever be worthy to take it in your eyes,” she said. “What good is a flower hidden away for no one to see? Who will remember its beauty when it wilts?”

Leesha let out a choked sob, and Jizell was there in an instant, holding her tightly as she cried. “There, there, poppet,” she soothed, stroking Leesha’s hair, “it’s not as bad as all that.”

After supper, when the wards were checked and the apprentices sent to their studies, Leesha and Jizell finally had time to brew a pot of herb tea and open the satchel from the morning Messenger. A lamp sat on the table, full and trimmed for long use.

“Patients all day and letters all night,” Jizell sighed. “Thank light Herb Gatherers don’t need sleep, eh?” She upended the bag, spilling parchment all over the table.

They quickly separated out correspondence meant for the patients, and then Jizell grabbed a bundle at random, glancing at the hail. “These are yours,” she said, passing the bundle to Leesha and snatching another letter off the pile, which she opened and began to read.

“This one’s from Kimber,” she said after a moment. Kimber was another of Jizell’s apprentices sent abroad, this one to Farmer’s Stump, a day’s ride south. “The cooper’s rash has gotten worse, and spread again.”

“She’s brewing the tea wrong; I just know it,” Leesha groaned. “She never lets it steep long enough, and then wonders at her weak cures. If I have to go to Farmer’s Stump and brew it for her, I’ll give her such a thumping!”

“She knows it,” Jizell laughed. “That’s why she wrote to me this time!”

The laughter was infectious, and Leesha soon joined in. Leesha loved Jizell. She could be as hard as Bruna when the occasion demanded, but she was always quick to laugh.

Leesha missed Bruna dearly, and the thought turned her back to the bundle. It was Fourthday, when the weekly Messenger arrived from Farmer’s Stump, Cutter’s Hollow, and points south. Sure enough, the hail of the first letter in the stack was in her father’s neat script.

There was a letter from Vika, as well, and Leesha read that one first, her hands clenching as always until she was assured that Bruna, older than ancient, was still well.

“Vika’s given birth,” she noted. “A boy, Jame. Six pounds eleven ounces.”

“Is that the third?” Jizell asked.

“Fourth,” Leesha said. Vika had married Child Jona—Tender Jona, now—not long after arriving in Cutter’s Hollow, and wasted no time in bearing him children.

“Not much chance of her coming back to Angiers, then,” Jizell lamented.

Leesha laughed. “I thought that was given after the first,” she said.

It was hard to believe seven years had passed since she and Vika exchanged places. The temporary arrangement was proving permanent, which didn’t entirely displease Leesha.

Regardless of what Leesha did, Vika would stay in Cutter’s Hollow, and seemed better liked there than Bruna, Leesha, and Darsy combined. The thought gave Leesha a sense of freedom she never dreamt existed. She’d promised to return one day to ensure the Hollow had the Gatherer it needed, but the Creator had seen to that for her. Her future was hers to choose.

Her father wrote that he had caught a chill, but Vika was tending him, and he expected to recover quickly. The next letter was from Mairy; her eldest daughter already flowered and promised, Mairy would likely be a grandmother soon. Leesha sighed.

There were two more letters in the bundle. Leesha corresponded with Mairy, Vika, and her father almost every week, but her mother wrote less often, and oftentimes in a fit of pique.

“All well?” Jizell asked, glancing up from her own reading to see Leesha’s scowl.

“Just my mum,” Leesha said, reading. “The tone changes with her humors, but the message stays the same: ‘Come home and have children before you grow too old and the Creator takes the chance from you.’” Jizell grunted and shook her head.

Tucked in with Elona’s letter was another sheet, supposedly from Gared, though the missive was in her mother’s hand, for Gared knew no letters. But whatever pains she took to make it seem dictated, Leesha was sure at least half the words were her mother’s alone, and most likely the other half as well. The content, as with her mother’s letters, never changed. Gared was well. Gared missed her. Gared was waiting for her. Gared loved her.

“My mother must think me very stupid,” Leesha said wryly as she read, “to believe Gared would ever even attempt a poem, much less one that didn’t rhyme.”

Jizell laughed, but it died prematurely when she saw that Leesha had not joined her.

“What if she’s right?” Leesha asked suddenly. “Dark as it is to think Elona right about anything, I do want children one day, and you don’t need to be an Herb Gatherer to know that my days to do it are fewer ahead than behind. You said yourself I’ve wasted my best years.”

“That was hardly what I said,” Jizell replied.

“It’s true enough,” Leesha said sadly. “I’ve never bothered to look for men; they always had a way of finding me whether I wanted it or not. I just always thought one day I’d be found by one that fit into my life, rather than expecting me to fit into his.”